


Virtues of Sins

by Panic_CelestialInk



Category: Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood & Manga
Genre: Canonical Character Death, Multi, Post-Canon, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-08
Updated: 2016-11-08
Packaged: 2018-08-29 21:25:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,703
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8505979
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Panic_CelestialInk/pseuds/Panic_CelestialInk
Summary: It was one of the few conversations Ed had had with Van Hohenheim before the Promised Day. Ed had asked about the Homunculi and the sins they represented. Hohenheim had answered that his doppelganger had tried to make himself perfect by drawing out his seven sins: Gluttony, Wrath, Pride, Envy, Sloth, Greed and Lust. Then, Hohenheim had smiled, and said “But, sometimes a little bit of sinning isn’t such a bad thing.”Ed never got to ask him what he meant by that.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, again, not the promised Greelingfan. Once again, Mom read some of my fanfic, and said this one was worth posting.
> 
> I've never written most of these characters before, so please let me know what you think, and if everyone is in character. Or, if there's anything I can improve on.

 

It was one of the few conversations Ed had had with Van Hohenheim before the Promised Day. Ed had asked about the Homunculi and the sins they represented. Hohenheim had answered that his doppelganger had tried to make himself perfect by drawing out his seven sins: Gluttony, Wrath, Pride, Envy, Sloth, Greed and Lust. Then, Hohenheim had smiled, and said “But, sometimes a little bit of sinning isn’t such a bad thing.”

Ed never got to ask him what he meant by that.

 

Gluttony:

 

 A thick slice of bread, still warm from the oven, with a crust that cracked as he bit into it. No, it was better when he smeared butter on top of it, so that the melting butter could soak into the flesh of the bread. Quiche. A quiche with a rich, cheesy filling and crunchy spring onions, as well as the perfect flaky pastry. Chocolate. He’d missed chocolate so much. Slabs of chocolate that melted from the heat of his fingers and dribbled down his hands. He licked it, and the sticky sweetness exploded inside his mouth, and drew a moan from the pit of his stomach.  And best of all—steaming apple pie, with the rich aroma of cinnamon wafting up from the surface of the pastry. The pie was stuffed full of sweet apples and raisins. Cream trickled down the sides of the pie. He reached for another slice and—”

 

 _"Al?!_   What are you doing?”

 

Al glanced up to where Ed stood, open-mouthed in the doorway. Al was suddenly achingly aware of the crumbs stuck to his shirt, the smears of jam and butter on his cheeks, and the piles of half-eaten dishes in front of him. Winry’s kitchen, even in the dim glow of the lamplight, looked like a hurricane had passed through it.

 

“Brother! I  . . . It’s been  so  long since . . . I-I’m sorry.” He looked away, and almost missed the way Ed’s eyes softened.

 

Ed suddenly chuckled, and Al risked a cautious glance at him. Ed was grinning widely at him.  

 

“Well, budge over, Al. There’s no way I’m letting you eat all of Winry’s apple pie!”

 

Wrath

Ling flew down the corridors, ignoring the ornate tapestries and decorative statutes that were scattered about. He was sure he had destroyed several priceless antiques in his lunatic dash through the Imperial Palace—and he couldn’t have cared less. His pulse thundered in his ears, and he kept a white-knuckled grip on his sword-hilt. A flash of black in the corner of his eye told him that Lan Fan was keeping pace with him. He reached the end of the corridor, where two men stood guard in front of a wooden door covered with decorative carvings. They were the first people Ling had seen in this deserted section of the palace. They looked startled at his approach, and tried frantically to draw their weapons.

 

It was a mistake.

 

Ling’s sword flashed and the one man crumpled, blood spurting from his wounds. The other man was dead before Ling reached him, one of Lan Fan’s kunai protruding from his forehead. Ling leapt over the corpse and smashed through the doors.

 

In a split second, Ling took in the scene. The torn curtains and wrecked furniture. The kunai embedded in the walls. The smoking traces of alkahestry all over the room. The blood splatter on the walls. Three men guarding the windows and the door. Another four surrounding Mei. And Mei— _his little sister_ —clutching her bleeding shoulder. He charged forward, his sword slashing through the air. A red curtain fell over his vision. When he returned to himself, his robes were soaked in blood. There were bodies sprawled around the room—most of them in a state of dismemberment. He had the last assassin by the throat.

 

“P-please. H-have mercy, your Eminence.  S-she’s nothing . . . only a member of the Chang clan!”

 

Ling rammed his sword into the assassin’s shoulder. He screamed.

 

“She’s my _sister.”_ Ling snarled. “And no one hurts my sister.”

 

With that, Ling jerked his sword out of the assassin’s arm. It came loose with a sick, sucking sound. In the same movement, Ling drew his blade across the assassin’s abdomen. His entrails splattered onto the floor. Ling released the assassin and left him twitching on the ground. He wiped this blade on his robes and looked around. Lan Fan was crouched protectively in front of Mei, the blade of her automail dripping with blood. Both of them were watching Ling with wide eyes.

 

“Are you hurt, Mei?”

 

“A—a little“

 

“Then, let’s get you to the alkahestrists.” He kicked the dying assassin. “We’ll leave this trash for the servants to remove.”

 

Pride 

This was Scar’s favourite time of the day. The sun had yet to lift itself over the horizon, and press down with the flat palm of its heat on the settlement.  The sky was still silver with pre-dawn light. It was the perfect time for mediation. He had also found the perfect place for his mediations as well—the top of one of the rock formations that towered over the desert landscape. It offered him the perfect view of the Ishvallan settlement. There were footpaths that ran between the colourful fabrics of the tents. Goats and chickens wandered around, searching for scraps of food. Further up though, there were signs of activity. Scaffolding surrounded half-formed buildings: houses, schools, little shops and a town hall. A well had been built in the centre, and more wells were planned to ensure that there was always a supply of water.

 

Near the well, benches had been built. Though, at the moment they were empty, during the day, there were dozens of Ishvallan children seated on them, taking notes as their teachers spoke. Of course, lessons never continued all day, and he often saw children running through the streets, involved in a complicated game that only they understood. The priests had also returned and were once again preaching Ishvala’s teachings. Everywhere Scar looked, no matter what the time of day, he saw evidence of the courage, and resilience of his people.

 

Scar had never been more proud.

 

Envy

 

Mei’s knuckles were white as she gripped her cup of tea. Usually, she found the Jasmine Dragon to be a calming place—not in the least because it had the most amazing tea blends in Xing. It was a beautiful tea shop, with gold dragon statues dotted between the tables and murals on the walls. There were plenty of tables for patrons, and even a few booths, where privacy was ensured through the use of delicately painted paper screens. The smell of spice, jasmine, lavender and cinnamon filled the air. But today, nothing could calm the seething Princess—not even the comforting presence of her heart-sister, Xiao Mei, on her shoulder. Mei’s eyes darted across the room to where _they_ sat. Her Alphonse, and some red-haired, one legged hussy. They were smiling at each other and laughing. Alphonse looked good in the traditional Xingese clothing Mei had chosen for him—midnight blue with golden embroidery to bring out the colour of his eyes. The hussy looked out of place, in some sort of colourful foreign clothing. As Mei watched, Alphonse leant forward and whispered something, and the woman nodded eagerly.

 

Something started to hurt in Mei’s chest. She released her cup and shoved her chair back. She marched across the room, ignoring the stares of the other patrons.

 

Alphonse’s eyes widened as he spotted her. “H-hello, Mei. What are you doing here?”

 

Mei’s answering smile was cold. “I could ask you the same thing . . . I thought we were going for lunch today?”

 

“I’m sorry,” the hussy said. “I asked Alphonse if he would show me around the city.”

 

Xiao Mei growled at the hussy, and her eyes went wide. Mei half-wanted Xiao Mei to bite the hussy, just so she could see what the red-head would do.

 

“It’s fine.” Mei resisted the urge to stab the hussy with her kunai. “I don’t believe we’ve met before.  I’m Princess Mei Chang, seventeenth in line to the throne of Xing. You are?”

 

“I’m Julia, from the city state of Milos.” She held out her hand, which Mei reluctantly shook.

 

“Julia’s an old friend of mine,” Alphonse said. “We helped her free her city from both Amestrian and Cretan rule, and become independent.”

 

“Yes, Milos wouldn’t exist without Edward and Alphonse. I’m so glad Alphonse invited me to visit . . . he’s told me so much about Xing, and Alkahestry, and you.”

 

“Really? He hasn’t told me anything about you.” Mei gripped Alphonse’s arm. “Do you mind if I quickly speak to Alphonse in private?”

 

Without waiting for an answer, she dragged Alphonse across the tea room into a private booth. She slammed the screen door behind them. Alphonse looked stunned as Mei turned to face him, and folded her arms. She felt Xiao Mei do the same from her place on Mei’s shoulder.

 

“Mei, what’s wrong? You’re acting strangely.”

 

“What’s _wrong?_ You’re flirting with that hussy and you’re asking _me_ what’s wrong?”

 

“ _Hussy?_   Who? You mean Julia. She’s just a friend—and I’m not flirting with her!”

 

“Yes, you were! I saw the two of you!”

 

“Mei, I promise you that there’s nothing going on between me and Julia.”

 

“And I’m just supposed to believe that after seeing you moon over her for the last half an hour? And if there’s nothing going on, why didn’t you tell me she was visiting?  Why should I believe that you aren’t in love with her when—”

 

“Because she’s helping me propose to you!”

 

Dead silence. Mei tried to remember how to breathe.

 

“W-what?”

 

Alphonse was slowly turning red. He looked at the floor.

 

“I wanted to propose to you, Mei. I bought a ring and everything. But , you’re a Princess . . . so I wanted to try to do something really spectacular. I thought if I did a display of all the different elemental alchemies as part of the proposal, it might make it special. Colonel Mustang said he would help me with the flame alchemy when he comes for his visit next week. But, I still needed help with electrical and ice alchemy, and Julia is stellar at that, so I wanted her to come and help me with the proposal.” He sighed and ran a hand through his hair. “I guess it’s ruined now . . .”

 

Mei swallowed hard. “May I see it?”

 

“What?”

 

“May I see the ring?”

 

Reluctantly, Alphonse reached into his pocket, and pulled out a red, velvet box. He set it in May’s palm. Inside the box was a simple white-gold band, with three stones set in it. A larger, clear diamond, and two smaller pink ones.  But, as Mei looked closer, she could see the delicate traces of transmutation marks, and Xingese writing on the inside on the band, which said “You are my Heart, Princess.” Suddenly, she realised that Alphonse had made the ring himself.

 

Xiao Mei made an approving noise, as Mei stared at the ring.

 

“I’m so, so sorry, Alphonse.” She felt tears stinging her eyes as she looked up at him.

 

He smiled gently at Mei. “It’s okay, Mei. I should have told you about Julia, anyway.”

 

Mei took a deep breath.  “Ask me.”

 

“What?”

 

 “If you still want to  . . . ask me.”

 

“Princess Mei Chang of Xing, will you marry me?”

 

“Yes! A hundred times yes, my sweet Alphonse!” She flung herself at Alphonse and threw her arms around him.

 

Before the shocked man could react, she kissed him, hard. He didn’t complain.

 

Sloth

 

Riza Hawkeye had seen many strange things in her time at Central. From Alex’s tendency to rip off his shirt at the slightest provocation, to Maes’ insistence on posting photographs of his family everywhere, to  Sheska’s obsession with books. She’d once even caught Denny and Maria in the middle of something heated in one of the archive rooms.

 

The one thing she never expected to see was Colonel Roy Mustang sound asleep at his desk at three twenty-five in the morning. She had come in to pick up some files she had been planning to read over the weekend, and had seen the light coming from his office. . .

 

Riza drew her gun, clicked off the safety, and cautiously approached the door. Her free hand grasped the handle, and she carefully turned it, straining her ears for any sounds on the other side. Nothing. She flung open the door, and immediately sought a target. She blinked in shock.  There was  terrifying amount of books and papers  scattered across the desk, coffee table, couch and arranged in precarious piles on the floor. She holstered her weapon, as  her sniper’s eyes targeted Roy and  took in the details of his appearance. His hair was mussed, there were bags under his eyes, and his uniform could have used  a good iron.  She could see stubble growing on his chin. Riza frowned. The Colonel hated stubble. She navigated her way around his research materials toward him. When had he last had a bath? Or eaten?

 

She shook his shoulder. He raised his head and blinked owlishly at her.

 

“Lieutenant? What are you doing here so late?” He rubbed his eyes, and let out a yawn that made his jaw crack.

 

“Sir, it’s the morning. Have you been here all night?”

 

He nodded. “Yes. I’ve been trying to familiarise myself with the Ishavallan written language, so that I will be able to communicate better by writing if we need it.”

 

“You can do that later, Colonel. You need to rest.”

 

“No!” He yawned. “I just need another coffee and I’ll be fine.”

 

“Colonel, you remember you gave me permission to shoot you, sir? I will exercise that privilege now and shoot you in the foot.”

 

“You wouldn’t.”

 

Riza raised an eyebrow and the Colonel swallowed hard.

 

“If you don’t want that, Colonel, I suggest you take the next few days off and get some rest.”

 

“But. . .” The Colonel looked at his research. “I have so much work to do. There’s so much I need to know if I’m going to be any use in rebuilding Ishval.”

 

“You won’t be any use if you collapse from exhaustion.” She firmly gripped his arm and pulled him to his feet. “March, Colonel.”

 

“Yes, ma’am.”

 

Riza underestimated the Colonel’s exhaustion. She had planned to take him to one of the empty bunks in the barracks, but he took two steps and tripped over his own feet. If Riza hadn’t grabbed him, he would have fallen face-first on the floor. She wedged herself under his arm, and guided him to the couch. She reluctantly let him go, and started clearing a space on the couch by relocating the piles of books and papers to the floor. She kept watch on the Colonel out of the corner of her eye—he was swaying on his feet, and she was worried he’d collapse again. Once she was done,  she sat him down, and then pushed a pillow into his hands.

 

“Go to sleep, Colonel. When you wake up, you can take the day off.”

 

He yawned. “Lieutenant, I’m--“

 

“Sleep!”

 

The Colonel tossed the pillow onto the couch next to him. He flopped down onto it. Riza draped her jacket over him, and smoothed his hair away from his eyes.

 

“Goodnight, Colonel.”

 

He mumbled something in reply.  Riza smiled and left the room. She deliberately didn’t think of exactly what Colonel Roy  Mustang had just mumbled.

 

Greed

 

The boom of the fireworks was echoed by the roars of the crowd. Colourful stars drizzled down on the revellers, and even from her vantage point on the rooftops, Lan Fan could hear cries of “ _Long Live Emperor Ling!”_ The sound made her smile. She had been amongst the crowds earlier, as the Young Lord had knelt down and been crowned in front of the entire nation.  But now, she wanted to be alone with her thoughts.

 

She was overjoyed for him—and she felt a stabbing pain in her chest at the same time. Tonight she had lost him to duty and tradition.  She’d known that this would happen, but she hadn’t expected it _to hurt_ so much.

 

But here, she allowed herself a luxury. She allowed herself to want  . . .

 

 _“_ _Greed may not be good, but it isn’t so bad either. You humans think greed is just for money and power, but everyone wants something they don’t have.”_

 

Greed’s voice purred in her ear, just like it had the first time. Her hand fluttered over her lips.

 

_His hand on her cheek. The Young Lord’s eyes. Greed’s smirk. The kiss started by Greed, sustained by The Young Lord._

 

Maybe it was because she hadn’t been sure if the Young Lord—or Greed—would survive the Promised Day. Maybe it was because Greed had warped the Young Lord’s features to the point that Lan Fan could pretend that he was someone she was allowed to want. Whatever the reason, she’d fiercely kissed them back, and when she’d pulled away, there had been tears in her eyes.

 

She heard the light footsteps behind her, and leapt to her feet, her automail blade slicing through the air. Then she froze, a hair’s breadth from slicing open the intruder’s throat.

 

“Your Majesty! You shouldn’t sneak up on me,” she said sternly, retracting her blade.

 

He laughed. “And you should pay more attention to the movement of the qi around you.”

 

She nodded, accepting the rebuke. The Young Lord moved forward and easily sat down on the tiles. No longer trapped in the layers of ceremonial robes, he wore his usual silken trousers and tunic. His tunic was loose, and Lan Fan caught a glimpse of his muscled chest. Her breath hitched for a moment, before she wrestled her desire into submission. Lan Fan joined him and stared out over the celebrations.

 

“Shouldn’t you be down there?” she gestured at the revelling crowds in the courtyards.

 

“It’s my coronation, so I’ll leave if I want to. Besides, you should be down there with me. I wouldn’t have become Emperor if it wasn’t for you.”

 

She felt her cheeks heat. “It was your destiny to become Emperor, Your Majesty. It would have happened, regardless of whether I was there or not.”

 

The Young Lord made a noise of disagreement, his eyes flicking to her automail arm, and away again.

 

“But that’s not what I wanted to talk to you about,” he said, and he pulled out a piece of paper from the inner pocket of his tunic. “I need your opinion on this.”

 

Lan Fan took the paper from his hands. “What is it?”

 

“N-nothing,” he stammered, and then caught himself. “It’s a new law I want passed, after the ones establishing trade relations with Amestris and Ishval,  and the ones extending Imperial protection to the Chang clan.”

 

Lan Fan read the paper. And read it again. And again.

 

“ _Your Majesty, you can’t do this!”_

 

“Why not? The whole purpose of the fifty bride marriage system was to prevent strife. All it’s done is cause siblings to try and assassinate each other. I grew up expecting a knife in my back every night. Mei had to learn how to fight because of an assassination attempt when she was three. What kind of life is that for children?” The Young Lord’s face was hard. “No more. It ends. I will only take one wife. A woman who has courage, integrity, loyalty and intelligence. You.”

 

“ _Me?!”_ Her blush intensified.

 

This couldn’t be happening. This was impossible.

 

_Nothing’s impossible, Toots._

 

Damn that Homunculus for being so clever.

 

“Yes. I love you, Lan Fan. I will have you as my wife, or no other. Succession be damned. “ He sighed. “I know I’m being . . . _greedy._ But I want to be Emperor, and to marry the women I love. I don’t think that’s so wrong.”

 

Lan Fan stared at him. “You think you’re being _greedy?_ “ she asked, the corners of her mouth twitching. He chuckled.

 

“I know . . . I still miss him. And I can imagine what comments he’d be making about this.”

 

Lan Fan could, too. And some of them would have caused her to blush even harder.

 

Then, she started, because she could hear Greed’s voice clearly.

 

_You’re going to make me sick, the two of you! He’s handing himself over on a silver platter, so for once in your life TAKE WHAT YOU FUCKING WANT, TOOTS!_

 

She snorted, and smiled at Ling.

 

“Yes.”

 

“What?”

 

“Yes, I will be your wife.”

 

Ling let out a whoop of joy, and kissed her hard on the mouth. As she kissed him back, she decided that she would have to name their first son Greed.

 

Well . . . Maybe it would be a middle name.

 

Lust

 

People said alchemy was a form of magic. Ed knew they were wrong. Magic was found in other things. In the smell of automail oil and lemons that clung to Winry’s hair. In the smooth softness of her skin, and the salty tang he tasted when he kissed her neck. It was in the soft noises she made when he touched her, and in the way she tangled her fingers in his hair. It existed in their kisses.

 

He worried a lot that he would hurt her. That he would be too fierce, or that his automail leg would scratch her, or that he’d grab too hard. He knew he’d hurt her the first time—the blood on the sheets told him that, not Winry. She said it was the best night of her life, apart from their wedding.

 

She had her own worries. He could tell by the way her fingers stumbled over the various scars all over his body. Tears would well in her eyes. He would clutch her close to him when this happened, kissing her hard, and trying to convince her that everything was all right, and that he was here and that it would take a damn army to keep him from her.

 

But, for all that, there was magic in what existed between them. And holding Winry, Edward conceded that Hohenheim had been right when he said a little sinning wasn’t always a bad thing.

**Author's Note:**

> Hope everyone enjoyed it. If anyone wants to know why I chose each character for each sin, let me know. 
> 
> Also, I'm a bit uncertain about how the smut came across . . . I didn't want to make it too explicit, so I opted for a bit of a vague approach. Did it work?


End file.
